


Fickle

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Alys Karstark Lives, Alternate Universe-Jaime Lives, Anti-The North, But It's not Going Well, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Implied Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, NOT for Sansa fans, Post Season 8, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 18:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19817872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Sansa is learning that critiquing the policies of the king is easier than defending her own.





	Fickle

Alys Karstark even looked a little like her.

Red hair, ivory skin. Not so striking, not so graceful, not so elegant.

And Sansa was sure her own voice never grated as much as Lady Karstark’s. But still, the similarity was there.

“Your Grace, what is the point in our independence when we are still left utterly beholden to the Iron Throne?” the girl demanded, to an approving chorus of grunts and murmurs from the assembled lords.

Sansa rolled her eyes, the stench of wilful ignorance clogging her nostrils.

“As I have said time and time again, our stores are depleted and without the South’s assistance, we will not have sufficient food to see out the winter. Cooperation with the South’s demands are a worthy price to pay in return for the food provided,” Sansa insisted.

“Your Grace, the sum the Queen in the South is demanding from us has bled us all dry, and in return the rations she sends are pitiful, scarce enough to feed a rat,” Alys Karstark declared. “I beg you to heed my words. I have walked amongst the small-folk, I have seen their suffering. They work themselves to the point of death to pay Queen Daenerys’s demands, in return for scraps. If you have seen them your Grace, spoken to them as I have-”

“Lady Karstark, do you dare insinuate I care not for my people, and do not listen to their desires?” Sansa thundered.

“Of course, not your Grace-”

“Then I suggest you hold that poisonous tongue before you find yourself without it,” Sansa hissed.

She had hoped that the threat of the end of all talk would bring about a momentary respite form it, and move her court to silence. Instead the murmurs grew to grumbles.

 _“For shame!”_ they all growled. _“T’would be an act of tyranny, and against her own kin!”_

_Kin._

The Karstarks and the Starks, for all their blood ties went back centuries, were kin. Barely a drop of blood remained between the two families, but enough for a great deal of blood to spill should her people deem it convenient.

_Kin. Family._

Such sweet words disguising such ugly truths. A family was just a line of people waiting to take what was yours, and Sansa could never let herself forget that.

The Karstarks would not, nor would the rest of her kin.

~

Sansa had learnt a great deal from her time in King’s Landing. Namely, that the walls had ears.

As she discretely looked over the Northern Lords and Ladies huddled together in the courtyard from a balcony, she gave thanks her people has missed that lesson.

They spoke in whispers, but their voices clamoured one over the other and grew alongside their favour.

Alys Karstark was spoke softly and gently, and yet it was clear she held court.

“Queen Sansa won us our independence from Queen Daenerys,” she pointed out softly. “We cannot forget that.”

“It is an independence only in name,” Lord Glover growled. “Our families fought, suffered and died to win the right to govern our own land, and yet here we are still existing at the whim of a Southerner.”

“Aye,” Lord Dustin agreed. “We may call ourselves independent, but here we are, freezing and starving as Queen Daenerys sits upon her pile of ashes and rubble, holding our fate in her hands.”

“I almost believe we would have been better of a part of the Seven Kingdoms, if this is a cost of our independence,” another voice put in.

“If Queen Sansa were to meet with the Dragon Queen herself, and put our plight to her, she may listen,” Lady Alys suggested, well aware Sansa would do no such thing.

“Queen Daenerys would grant her Grace nothing more than has already been allowed. Queen Sansa never hid her dislike of the Targaryen and now we are being punished.”

“We are being starved for Queen Sansa’s incivility.”

 _Your bastards!_ Sansa wanted to shriek. _I spoke for you, I was you voice. I defended the North from the Queen when my own brother licked her boots. And you crowned me for it. You loved me for it._

_Until the reality of what we fought for sunk in._

The dream is always sweeter than the truth.

When Jon was King, and when he gave the Targaryen the crown, Sansa was the dream.

Now she was the truth and the Northerners needed a new figurehead to pin their hopes and frustrations on.

“King Jon would listen, I am sure of it,” Lady Alys insisted.

“Queen Sansa would never ask for it,” Lord Glover said, “She is too proud.”

“And we are to starve for that pride.”

“It is a poor thing, when a Queen would give the life of her people for pride.” Lady Karstark sighed in melancholy. “I would willingly be whipped naked through the streets as onlookers jeered if it would protect my people.”

Their voices rose once more, this time in approval.

“Queen Daenerys would grant nothing to Queen Sansa,” Lord Glover began, “But to another ruler-”

“Oh no,” Lady Karstark said swiftly. “Sansa is our queen. She is doing what she thinks is right.”

Sansa’s blood ran cold, making her feel like a mimicry of the Ice Queen her people had come to see her as.

She stumbled to the empty Great Hall and sat heavily upon her throne. She clutched her arms rests and relished the weight of the crown upon her head. Wrapped tight in her stiff black gowns, there she felt untouchable.

Everyone who had harmed her or threatened her was gone.

Joffrey was dead. Ramsey was dead. Cersei and Littlefinger, her tutors and tormenters, dead. Queen Daenerys lurked in her desecrated city as her people cowered beneath the shadow of her dragon’s wing, waiting to avenge their dead. Jon at her side.

Jon, who had been crowned King before her and ignored her advice, gone. No more would she defer to him.

Arya, with her sharp words and sharp sword, gone. Gone to roam with her doting Blacksmith in tow.

Brienne, who still saw her as the frightened girl she found in the snow, whose very presence undermined her, gone. Now of the accursed name of Lannister, she no doubt opened her legs for the Kingslayer nightly on the backwater of an island she called home.

Brienne, who never faltered in her quest to find Sansa and bring her to safety.

Gone.

Jon, who had fought and near died to win back their home.

Gone.

Arya, loyal to the pack above all else.

Gone.

Sansa had wanted to be untouchable and rid herself of all those who would get close to her to achieve that end.

And now the halls of Winterfell was filled with strange, loveless faces, and what had made this castle a home was; like so much else, gone.

The thin crown upon her head and heavy black dress did so little to shield her now.

Running her fingers along the fabric, Sansa almost wondered if a day would come that saw Lady Karstark wearing her clothes. They would suit her well.

Alys Karstark even looked a little like her.


End file.
